Making a Villain
by StygianStarlight
Summary: Before he was known as Dr. Flug, the most lethal mad scientist in the world, the brains behind Black Hat Organization, he was just a teenage genius born into a family of heroes. Then one day, a traumatic familial experience, a welcoming hand from a villainous woman, and a conversation on morality have him changing course mid-flight.
1. Recognition

Notes:

Taking a lot of clues from the show to demonstrate how Kenning became the villainous Dr. Flug. Feel free to share your headcanons about familial drama, Flug's motivation, Penumbra, etc and I might include them in future chapters.

Chapter Text

Kenning had always wanted to be a hero. And he might have been, if not for the reflection in the glass liquor cabinet.

It was only logical that everyone in the Heart family should work in heroics. Kenning's older brother was a registered hero. His parents were secret agents in a heroic initiative. Everyone wanted to be a protagonist, and the science-wiz had the connections and the brains, and the drive to do good-just none of the brawn.

But, as Kenning's father Devon put the whiskey away, swaying almost imperceptibly, he saw a framed object on the opposite wall reflected in the glass cabinet door.

The middle-aged man turned, weary-eyed, to focus on the thing on the wall that he hadn't seen before. Next to the list of 2010 graduates from the Academy of Heroics-with his oldest son's name highlighted in yellow-there was a framed photo behind glass, with two people, their faces obscured by a reflection of kitchen lighting.

He moved closer. The bar of light appeared to move, revealing the faces. One was a news reporter, holding up a microphone to a skinny teen. Devon recognized the teen as his second son, grinning. Smug. Devon snorted and furrowed his brow, a pang of annoyance hitting him in the gut. He lifted the picture off the wall and carried it down the hall.

"Kenning, did you hang this?" The older man asked as he stepped through the teenager's open door. Kenning was hunched over a microscope in a desk chair, and looked up. He picked up a pair of glasses from his desk and put them on, then turned to squint at the object Devon was holding.

"Oh! Yeah, that's from my interview!" he responded with a wide smile, turning his chair to face his father completely. "About the ultra-light battery I was working on. It was on channel 4."

"I see," Devon said as he tossed the picture to Kenning's immaculately-made bed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame as the teenager's eyes followed the picture. "I don't see why you got on TV for that."

Kenning frowned and crossed his arms. "Well, there can be a lot of practical uses for battery-powered objects, but their size-to-power ratio-"

"Son, do you know what I do?" Devon interrupted.

Ken looked to the left and right, as though someone might be listening. "Yes?"

"I'm on a team that thwarts villains every day. Without our agents, the world could be at stake. But I never get interviewed on TV."

Ken was silent for a moment, and shifted his head to peer at his father from the side. "You can't-you can't talk about secret agent work on TV..."

Devon huffed and strode over to the teen. "The point is, " he diverged, "this is a family of heroes, not nerds. You need to focus on your strength and combat skills if you're ever going to get into The Academy of Heroics."

Kenning looked past his father at the open door. "I can use science to be a-"

"Come with me. We're going on a drive."

Ken sighed and stepped towards the closet. "I don't really want to have this conversation again, Dad."

The older man suddenly took him by the forearm, pulling him down the hall before he could pick up his jacket from the closet. Before he knew it, he had been shoved into the passenger seat of the family sedan. It was freezing in the car, and he quickly turned on the heat and opened the vents as his father struggled with the keys.

As the engine ignited, air blew from the vents on the dashboard onto the pair. But the air was cold.

It seemed like it was always cold when Ken sat with his father.


	2. Statuesque

**Summary:** Kenning's dad tries to convince him to be more like traditional heroes by showing him the statue of Sunblast. But Kenning knows he will never be like him.

**Notes: **TW for parental badgering, which is painfully realistic from my experience, and physical abuse.

* * *

"Don't use so much energy," Devon said to his passenger as he flicked off the heat in his car. "We have to save the planet."

Kenning was already curled in on himself in the passenger's seat, cold, skinny, and coat-less. He narrowed his eyes at his father's fingers as they worked, denying him his warmth. The teenager shivered, arms around his legs, then exhaled hard through his nose, and turned to look out the window.

Attitude. It figures. But that wouldn't dissuade Devon Heart. Devon Heart was a good guy. Most other fathers would have given up on someone like Kenning. That's what Devon's work friends told him to do. Just leave him alone, they'd say. He's never going to be what you want him to be. But Devon was a devoted father, he knew. Here he was, driving an hour and a half to show his son what it means to be a hero.

For one, it means sacrifice. Devon had to sacrifice so much in high school. Partying. Geeking out. The girl of his dreams. He could never get those back. But it was worth it, because now he had a career in heroics, so Kenning would have to learn sacrifice as well.

The trip was punctuated with one-sided declarations. "You know, your brother never needed to be reminded to work out," Devon would explain.

Kenning didn't respond.

"Do you understand?" Devon hammered.

"Yes."

"That's why he's a hero now."

"Uh huh." He couldn't get Kenning to argue, but he could see the cold boy was steaming.

* * *

For an hour and a half, they traveled. The roads wound in and out of hills, stratus clouds spilled low into the sky, and a blue mood filled the air in and outside of the car. Eventually, the road became flatter and they started to see other vehicles on the outskirts of Atreno City.

Kenning knew what their destination would be as soon he saw the enormous, humanoid silhouette emerge on the skyline. Devon drove as close as he could, surprisingly able to park only a block away from the monolith; few people were out on such a cold weeknight. The pair exited the car and made their way to the crown jewel of Atreno: the 11-story monument to their hero, Sunblast.

"This is what a hero enjoys, Son," Devon explained, hand clasped over his chest as they came to the statue. "A monument! The people of this city have nothing but love and respect for Sunblast. Can you imagine if people felt that way about you?"

The boy rubbed his hands together, walking closer to the base of the statue. That question was so on-the-nose that if he answered with anything other than "yep," he would probably launch into a tirade. He noticed some graffiti on the base of the statue written in thick, black letters.

'DUMBLAST'

"Look at that build, how many pushups do you think he's done?" his father continued. "You never see a monument honoring a scientist, boy."

Ken turned to face his patriarch, back to the statue, unable to resist the temptation to correct false statements. "What are you talking about? We used to live a block from a statue of Marie Curie!"

"She probably fought off villains on the side," Devon mused with unearned certainty. "That's when people used secret identities."

"Oh, my god," Ken mumbled, putting his hands on his head, keeping his eyes low.

Ken leaned back on the base of the statue for a second, then came away after realizing how cold the granite was. He made a mental note to never have his jacket out of reach, he couldn't believe in 45 degrees he had to make this trip in his jeans and T-shirt.

Out of his reverie, Ken noticed his father tensing his shoulders. He probably had expected the teen to be moved by this speech, and promise to never choose extra credit over gym time again. Dad wouldn't be happy that his plan wasn't doing anything.

"So I guess you just want to be a villain," the larger man said, gesturing emphatically. "You want to hurt people and be hated by everyone?"

"No." Ken didn't want to back down but he also didn't want a scene.

"How do you think you'll get into The Academy of Heroics?"

"I-I've told you this before. I'm going to get in with science."

"It's not safe for someone like you to go into heroics. Unless you get your act together and start combat training and bulking up."

"It-it's not-I'm not going to be like him, Dad." Ken was a picture of vulnerability-physically trapped between a rock and a hard man, small, shivering violently, and his voice high in pitch. He wouldn't cry; that would just prove his father's point and, importantly, humiliate the teen.

Devon grunted. "Not yet. You don't want it enough yet. That's why you're so lazy and never try."

"Of course I try! I've won the state science fair every year! I'm going to Nationals this year!" Ken's voice got louder and higher as he leaned forward, gesturing incredulously with his palms up. "That's laziness to you?!" "Kid, that doesn't matter," Devon pivoted. "If you're face-to-face with a raging sentient bear , what are you gonna do, show him your science fair ribbon?"

"It's trophies, Dad, you'd remember if you didn't throw them away."

"Are you gonna tell Quimera that? Or are you going to fight like a man, Kenning? "

"I told you! I'm going to use-" The teen grunted as he was pushed sharply by the shoulders into the base of the statue.

"What?" the imposing man growled, eyes twisted menacingly. "Science? Where's your science now?" His broad hands came forward again and pushed him harder into the granite.

Against all odds, the teen didn't miss a beat in response. "It could have," he retorted, "If I had prepared, which I would have if I had known that I was going to face a villain today."

Devon drew forward into the already narrow space between them, almost closing it. "What did you say?"

"If you weren't an _imbecile_, you'd get the implication," the teen's eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. "As it is, I'll tell you. You worship the good guys, but you're not one of them. You're a _bad guy_."

Ken will always remember that sentence with perfect clarity. He'll remember the feeling of being so much smarter than his father, and telling him so. He'll remember the blow to his father's ego with satisfaction.

More vaguely, though, he remembers being reached for.

And only distantly will he remember how saying something like that to such a powerful, proud man, was exceptionally, painfully stupid.


	3. Vision

Sounds floated above him like a bird on water. Sometimes ducking beneath the waves, staying for untold time, then re-emerging in a different spot. Hard to notice, too fleeting to store in his memory for later reference. The sounds could duck, tail up, into the water, and come up again behind a bush, shooting into the sky and flying away forever. What kind of bird was it-what were the words?

But now the waves rushed into his ears; waves of pain on the back of his head. Waves of shivers, he was so cold. He sensed that he was laying on his back on the ground. He thought of the zeroth law of thermodynamics: Thermal equilibrium is transitive. As his whole back is in contact with the cement, he knows the earth will suck the heat out of him until his body and the planet are the same temperature; of course, he would freeze to death first.

Before the cerebral boy could figure out the equation estimating how long he had before hypothermia set in, another wave hit him. Realization: there was someone near him. Touching his shoulder. Friend or foe?

I'm tired. How did my face get wet? Where is my coat? I'm moving; please get me off the ground. It's cold.

Then, a chirp in Kenning's ear. "Up," was the only word he heard.

Kenning opened his eyes to see a field of greyish blue. The sky. There was also something in the sky, but it was blurry. Or rather, it looked blurry, hopefully because Kenning was missing his glasses and not because the injury damaged his vision.

What was it? Something white. He tried to focus on it. This was important, in his haze, he was sure. Meaningful. Hopefully, the words "you'll be fine" written in the clouds. No? It's moving. Up. He had to look up, it was important. A harbinger, it's something white, moving through the sky; he had to know, as he always did. What is it, up in the sky?

A bird?

No.

A plane.


	4. White Bird

_BONG! Thud. _

These were the sounds that changed Kenning's fate.

Penelope had heard something like them before while walking down Central Avenue in Atreno City about a year ago, that unforgettable metallic bong . On that day, a poor, unfortunate creature had flown into the statue, and fell to the ground with a thud . She ran to its side; it was a bird, a huge white seabird, who she then scooped up and took home to rehabilitate. It was only later, when she set it down on her kitchen table, that she realized she had carried home a dead albatross.

On this cold evening, she heard the sounds again. Bong! She would find another vulnerable creature at the foot of the gold idol, she knew. It was just across the street from where Penelope had been walking, clad in a long brown coat and tall boots, and she turned and ran toward it before she could stop herself. With a belt supplied with gizmos and batteries bouncing on her waist, her shadowy "hair" flowing behind her, she quickly came to the source of the sounds. But there was no broken-winged bird, just a tall, broad-shouldered man straightening up, and a body on the pavement.

"What's happening?" She asked without thinking as she came to the foot of her monolithic nemesis.

The grey-suited man grunted and looked at her briefly. His face was red and he was wiping his left knuckle's on his suit, smearing red on it. "I wasn't trying to-just mind your own business, lady. I'll take care of it."

The woman was never a fan of being told to mind her own business; the way she figured it, if someone was vulnerable or hurt, it was the business of anyone in a position to help to do so.

But, rather than preparing to lecture the man on moral philosophy, she looked down and dropped to her knees to see what was wrong with the slack person below her. It was a skinny boy in a blue shirt, sporting a cut above his right eyebrow. Blood running down the side of his head and staining the sidewalk.

The man lurched towards them. "I said-"

"Get out!" Still crouched, with the speed of a quickdraw cowboy in a western movie, she pulled a gun-shaped device from her belt and pointed it him. Her eyes narrowed seriously. " Now ."

The man's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon and he stopped his advance. But he didn't leave. He searched her expression for a moment, then looked back down at the body. Then his eyes caught something to his left, and he stared for a moment. Something about whatever it was he saw inspired him to turn and walk briskly away.

Penelope re-holstered her device, giving no thought to where the man was going, and turned her attention to the boy on the ground. She shook his shoulder to rouse him. Nothing.

"Hey! Are you ok? Wake up," she coaxed, patting his cheek. Jostling his shoulder. He was like a doll, completely unresponsive.

A pang of panic swept through Penumbra as a morbid fear rose. She positioned herself so that she could cradle his neck under one arm, getting blood on her coat, and with shaking fingers she reached for his carotid artery on his neck to check for a heartbeat.

A fraction of a second passed.

Then, a soft beat. Then another, and another. Penelope could have sworn her own heart had started beating again as she felt the pulse.

Another, harsh sound broke her concentration. The shrill sound of an anonymous elderly woman. "Hey!" Penelope looked up and saw a stranger across the street, where she had been standing when she first heard the sounds. "Stop! I've called the police, Witch!"

Penelope pursed her lips in confusion. Why did this stranger call the police on her? She was only trying to help. Then, as she sat there with an unconscious young man, a dark shadow waving behind her, gun-like gadgets on her waist, blood on her hands and coat, she clearly looked like an assailant.

A villain.

She knew the cops wouldn't think twice about arresting her when they came-and given her record, she wouldn't come out of prison for a long time. The jury, certain to be stacked with Atrenans, would certainly never believe that she was anything other than a bad guy, out to harm her fellow man.

Penelope really had to get out of there.

A woman with better self-preservation instincts would have bolted, leaving the teen on the ground. But, he just looked so vulnerable. He needed someone.

"Please, please get up... up!" She was nearly crying. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do if she found someone unconscious; she knew that being knocked out for more than a minute was extremely dangerous, and she lamented to consider that he could already be brain dead-or soon to be fully-dead. Anyway, there wasn't really a sure-fire, safe way to wake someone up after a traumatic head injury.

No, she wouldn't risk injuring him more by picking him up. Nor would she try to rouse him again. Instead, she would wait by his side until the police came. Perhaps an ambulance would arrive as well, and she would stay with him as EMT's treated the kid.

The police would probably arrest her. This, she accepted. But she wouldn't run, wouldn't leave him alone. Such is the price of her uncompromising instincts to help others. It was her personal albatross.

The albatross...that poor, limp, cold seabird.

The machine.

The boy.

Surely, one of her deeds would turn out for the best. Somehow she would change someone's fate for the better. Right?

She bowed her head and leaned back, waiting. A minute passed. She took in the sounds around her, which seemed preternaturally loud.

Sounds bounced off the idol that had hurt the bird and the boy, and she wondered why so many worshiped it. A golden calf. A breeze hummed around it. Footsteps shuffled away from it. And above it, a soft _fwooom_ entered the soundscape.

It was a low-flying plane.

That's when the boy's eyes opened.


End file.
